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I said, “Right in front of us, the whole time.”
Robin said, “No big deal. My advantage was coming in fresh. And it probably doesn’t mean much.”
Milo said, “It helps us understand her. That’s always useful.”
He leaned over, kissed her hand, took the paper and placed it in the murder book.
“Seeing herself as enigmatic,” said Robin. “Painting a ghost orchid. To me that seems more than some cute California reinvention. More like erasing herself and trying to start over. Maybe a woman who’s had a really hard life?”
Milo said, “And ended up married to a millionaire.”
“And ended up dead.”
He flinched and said nothing.
Robin’s eyes had misted. I squeezed her hand. Cool to the touch.
“Anyway,” she said, “it just looked like an anagram to me. I’ll leave you guys to it.”
I said, “Woman with a hard life.”
“I know the obvious assumption was she was a gold-digging con.Being unfaithful, that thing with the diamond. And maybe I’m just getting mushy-hearted. But I can’t help feel she was struggling to make sense of who she was. And remained a puzzle to herself. Then to be murdered like that. It’s just…even if she wasn’t a saint, it’s sickening.”
She stood, took a can of Pellegrino from the fridge and popped it. “This is what I came in for. Bye.”
She headed back to the garden door. This time Blanche followed.
When they were gone, Milo said, “You want to go talk to her?”
“Nope.”
“She’s okay?”
“She needs her solitude in these situations.”
“These, being…”
“When she needs her solitude.”
“Okay, your call,” he said, doubtfully. “Enigma. Hard life. If Robin’s right, we could be talking a crime victim.”
I said, “That’s exactly what I flashed on. Maybe the victim of an older man, not some mistress who conned a high-roller. And if we’re talking years ago, you know where that could lead.”
“Child abuse, incest. Whatever evil they haven’t put a name on yet.” Veins formed in his forehead. He rubbed his face, shot up and paced the kitchen for two circuits. Continued into the living room for the third. When he returned any trace of haggard was gone.
Energized by anger.
“How the hell am I gonna do her justice?”
Supplying an answer would’ve felt great.
I had nothing to offer.
—
At three in the morning, woken abruptly from dreamless sleep, I lay on my back, assaulted by question marks.
I turned the case over and over. Kept coming back to a spiky white thing that reduced the concept of a flower to a bizarre abstraction.
